


Richie Tozier Grows Up

by Aestheticdenbrough



Series: losers growing up [6]
Category: IT (1990), IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Banter, Crush, Father-Son Relationship, Friend Date, Gen, Richie Tozier Has ADHD, Theater - Freeform, Walk, horror movie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-26
Updated: 2019-06-14
Packaged: 2019-06-16 11:45:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15436350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aestheticdenbrough/pseuds/Aestheticdenbrough
Summary: Richie through the ages, he's slowly learning who he is as a person.





	1. Marionette

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie gets distracted on the way to give a letter to the post office for his father.

Richie whistles an upbeat tune to himself, a bounce in his step, swinging his arms in front and back of himself, seeing a woman walking and clicking his tongue and giving her finger guns, his awkward eight year old of flirting.

He hops over a crack in the sidewalk, _can't break good ole Mags' back can I?_ he thinks to himself with a grin. He kicks a pebble far in front of himself, running to keep up with it just to kick it again. 

Really, he's supposed to be doing something important, walking a letter to the post for his father, but his chaotic brain can't seem to let him focus and he's made about four detours on this walk. So far he's; caught a frog and named him Jerry and released him into a nearby pond, picked at least a dozen dandelions in worry that his wish would come true only if he made it twelve times, realized he set the letter on a bench back by the pond, and finally, he'd been distracted by a girl on the sidewalk with impeccable yo-yo skills that 100% rival his own.

He steps dramatically over another crack, shaking his hand up and down next to himself, needing to keep his body going. He finally sees town more in sight, almost jumping for joy as the post office comes into his line of vision. _I've made it!_

He skips the rest of the way to the red brick building, standing tall despite Derry always having the same one. He sucks in a breath at the thought of the name of his town, that sweet Derry-air, he grins to himself.

He opens the door with the sweet jingle of the bell. He steps up to the counter with a buck-toothed grin and eyes full of mischief. "Oy! Excuuuuse me, mister, I believe I give this to you?" He asks, tilting his glasses down on his nose as he passes the envelope over the counter.

The man turns from sorting mail to meet Richie's eyes, enlarged and almost bug-like behind his glasses, "Outgoing?" The man asks, not affected in the least by Richie's behavior anymore, a long time worker here, and the day can't come soon enough when he gets to retire.

"Outgoing!" Richie exclaims back, swinging his arm with a snap, "Ah, Jim, you always get me," he grins, giving him the same flirty finger guns he'd given the woman earlier just for the laughs, mostly only on his end.

Jim only nods, taking the letter, "Have a nice day, young man," he says, tilting down his own glasses to Richie in acknowledgement of him.

Richie grins, miming tipping an imaginary hat to the familiar man, turning on his heel to challenge himself to a race out the door, the jingle of the bell only a distant sound as he's already several paces down the sidewalk by the time the door slowly starts to close against the air pressure.

Jim sighs, plopping into his old leather chair, rubbing between his eyebrows, not knowing Richie's first name, but he _does_ know that the kid is a walking headache.

The soles of Richie's worn sneakers smack against the pavement with a clap that satisfies him, eventually slowing down to a walk. He may be energetic, but it says nothing of him being in shape in any way. He huffs and puffs on his walk from then on. He runs his hand through his matted curls to get them off his forehead for a moment, the sun beating on the dark strands and leaving him sweating.

He fidgets with the hem of his shirt, making him look anxious and uncomfortable. He's not though, just hyperactive. People have told him he's bound to end up in a nuthouse one day, and he tells them he'll end up ruling the place, _perfect place to practice my comedy!_ he'd say to them.

He slows to a stop in front of the park, looking up at the wrought iron arch, _Derry Park_ , it reads to him after he shoves his glasses further up his nose. _Promised dad I'd go straight there and straight back- already ruined the first part. Nothing to lose_ , he tells himself, allotting himself twenty minutes, though he doesn't wear a watch and he'd never know.

Really, the park is more of a square, the playground is an entirely separate deal, the park is where adults walk around on their phones and teens clasp hands for the first time, and it often wasn't very interesting but something today drew Richie in anyways.

He sees a man dancing yarn woven dogs on strings, muttering soft sounds as he does. He's just another man that people threaten to send to the nuthouse, but to Richie, he's the coolest man to ever exist. He approaches, watching how each leg is controlled by a separate string and deciding that he's definitely not coordinated to do that. But giving something life and a character, now that's something he'd like to do, for he already does in his everyday speaking. He himself is his greatest character split into many others.

"So- how'd'ya get into this business?" Richie asks the man, a slight lisp escaping from his buck tooth grin as he speaks with a lower confidence than he usually does, nothing but his own voice making it's way into the question.

"Bought the puppets," the man shrugs lamely, and Richie realizes that he doesn't even seem interested in a career that he could consider his dream. _Entertaining people._

"Can I uh- y'know- give it a try?" He asks, cocking his head to the side innocently at his question. He puts out only one hand, only trusting himself with one at a time.

The man shrugs again, placing the damp-with-sweat wooden cross that holds the puppet up until Richie's palm, not realizing that he may be changing this young man's life forever.

Richie takes the form in his hand, dancing it around until he figures out how to get the dog into it's hind legs, bouncing it back and forth on the back legs, "Hello! I'm Mr. Dog, hehehe," he says in a high and airy voice, laughing to himself after, handing it back to the owner, "Thanks for letting me try, the strings may not be my thing," he admits, having to crouch down and untwist the strings a bit.

The man gives him a professional seeming nod, patting Richie's shoulder, "Good luck, kiddo," he says, forcing a genuine looking smile.

Richie nods back, walking studiously back home, his brain soaring with his plans for the future. He doesn't realize that it's past six as the summer sun stays in the sky. _Talk through a puppet- yeah. Make money that way- yeah_ , the thoughts run through his head faster than a cheetah after it's prey.

He arrives home, leaning the gnome back to spy the spare key, unlocking it before replacing it, something he's finally made a habit of. He walks in, slipping his muddy sneakers off, "Ho-ome!" He yells.

Maggie immediately comes shuffling in, putting her hands on his cheeks and kissing his head, "You're late! I was working sick!" She scolds, too soft and worried to be intimidating.

Richie sighs, removing his mom's hands from his face, "Mom! I'm alright! I'm not like- seven anymore!" He argues, cracking a bit of a smile in attempt to soothe her nerves. 

Maggie sighs, "Dinner's ready, it's about to be on the table, go wash up," she softens, patting his head awkwardly in her own way of affection.

Richie mopes off to the bathroom, running his hands under the sink, never the type he'd call a germ freak who would scrub under his fingernails, but a little dirt never hurt anyone. What doesn't kill me makes me stronger, he thinks, ready to flip around and go off to the dining room.

He moseys his way to the table, plopping into his chair with a sigh, it's always been his, proven by the gum right under where his hands can reach under the seat, a reminder of why he's no longer allowed to chew gum, that and his horrible overbite.

"Food?" He asks, before Maggie comes up behind him and places his bowl from over his shoulder, the green bowl he usually insists on using, filled with mac n cheese. His mom knows his taste. She's not sure what else he likes, all she knows is that she can please him this way. 

"My favorite!" Richie exclaims, picking up his fork excitedly to dig in.

His father's eyes lock with his, his pupils meeting Richie's exactly. "So, how was the trip to the post office?" He asks, his father may be a dentist but he can always feign the aura of a lawyer, but only for a few moments. "Have fun at the park?" He adds, cracking a smile before Richie can bubble with guilty anxiety.

Richie smiles back, "It was nice," he sighs, "I know what I want to be when I grow up," he says with a proud nod, not elaborating before going back to shoveling food down his throat, letting the thoughts keep to himself.


	2. Movie Money

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie borrows money from his father to get money for a movie.

Richie absolutely always looks forward to Tuesdays. The local movie theater puts on shows on discounted prices and it's probably Richie's favorite event of any week. 

He can't wait to one day maybe even work at the Aladdin, though he can't exactly do that at ten years old. All he can do is see as many movies as his time and budget gives him the opportunity to.

This week the theme of all the movies played is horror, and he can't help but be filled with a nervous adrenaline whenever he thinks of the zombies and the werewolves on screen. He's decided to bring Bill with him, of course.

Bill has likely already emptied his piggy bank completely for this week, horror being his signature genre ever since before Richie had even met him. He doesn't know how the kid does it without getting scared shitless every time, he gives his friend mad props for his bravery even though it's not facing something something real, only sfx and sound machines.

Richie realizes one thing as he's getting ready for his trip to the movies with his fearless best friend. He doesn't have the tickets and he'd just spent his last few dollars on snacks that they'd sneak in in baggy trouser shorts.

He huffs the himself, he told Bill he'd take on the money because Bill is broke enough as is with all his impulsive spending. Richie looks himself in the mirror, chewing his lip, he'll have to ask his father.

He puts on his most innocent face, looking himself in the mirror, then deciding it looks too fake and menacing.

He holds the expression, ducking out of the bathroom to the kitchen where his father sits and reads the paper most days. "Faaaather?" Richie prompts, drawing his words out in a light and airy tone.

Went lifts his glasses up on his nose, having had them tilted down to read the paper. He refuses to think he needs bifocals, he sees it as a sign that he's getting much too old and he has no desire to acknowledge it. "Richard?" He says on a disdainful voice that he reserves simply for his banter with Richie.

"Iiiiiii, don't have any movie money," Richie says, sliding into the dining chair next to Went. He leans his chin in his hand, "Can I borrow some?" He asks, blinking his eyes in his dad's direction sweetly.

"Hm, I'll have to think about it," Wentworth says suspiciously. He folds his paper up again, placing it in middle of the dining room table. "I might have twenty dollars to spare," he says with a fiendish grin that shows he's not finished yet. "If you have time to do the dishes for the next week," he bargains.

Richie quickly nods, throwing his hand in front of his father to shake on it, "I can agree on that, you mighty fine fellow of a father, you," he says in a teasing voice as he shakes his father's hand with almost all of his strength, pulling the hand to his face to press a joking kiss to the top of Went's palm that makes his old man laugh.

Richie skips off to find his worn Nike sneakers, slipping them on with the laces still tightly tied from last time, and several many times before. He goes back to his father, "I seem to have realized that I didn't take the money," he says, rubbing his hand on the back of his neck sheepishly, his excitement always gets the better of him and often makes him forget.

Went chuckles, pulling his faux leather wallet out of his pocket to fish out a crisp 20 dollar Bill to hand to his son, "Don't waste it, and don't drop it on the ground, and make sure to be polite to the teens who work there, y'hear?" His father lists off, reminding him all his "movie seeing" rules. Maggie and Went want to engrain manners into him, but they still can't seem to get him to sit still.

Richie holds the bill up to the light jokingly, "Hm, doesn't seem to be counterfeit, I'll trust you for now," he says with a joking wink to his dad before slipping off to the front door again. 

His bike is leaned precariously on the mailbox as if it's for sale because Richie doesn't always think through his parking, but it hasn't done him wrong yet so he sees no need to stop until he gets one stolen.

He hops up and swings his leg over the seat happily and starts pedaling playfully, purposefully wobbling on and off the grass from the road. He can't help but lose his breath easily, not having the best stamina despite his somewhat fit looking frame, though looks can deceive.

He finally rides up the Denbrough driveway, seeing Georgie pop up in the living room window and seeing his expression change as he yells up to Bill in his room, then he sees his friend come into view shuffling quickly down the stairs. 

Richie smiles to himself, pushing his glasses up on his nose to seem even just a pinch more decent looking, though Bill knows how he is, he can't help the slight insecurity with his appearance. His massive overbite, his rat's nest mop of hair, especially his freckles. To many they're beautiful and he agrees when he sees them on someone else, but to him they just further blemish his acne ridden skin.

Bill comes out the front door finally with a sweatshirt tied around his waist and a flannel over a t-shirt for a band that Richie will never understand why he likes. Bill smiles kindly at him, an expression he only seems to meet with his established close relationships, everyone else seems to be automatically irritated by his mere presence.

He can feel the comment linger on his tongue even before it comes out, "Lookin' hot, Billiam, what? Is this a date?" He teases, riding up to Bill who is mounting his own bike.

"Ew, beep beep, R-richie," Bill says, sticking his tongue out at his friend as he kicks up his kickstand and rolls freely down the driveway, not pedaling until he hits the place where the blacktop of his driveway hits the road, "Keep up i-if you can, Lover boy!" Bill jokes.

"Fuck you!" Richie shouts back, pedalling furiously after him, though not succeeding. He may not win every race, but he does win by having the best friends.


	3. Revelations With Wentworth Tozier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie hates that he feels different from the other kids. They have an easier time in school and many of is peers have easier relationships with their parents, at least something clear. He wants to know where he stands and his father might be able to help him in that.

The clock ticks and ticks with a click that rattles through the space between Richie's ears. He tries to finish the algebra problem in this god forsaken pre-test. The ticking makes him absolutely unable to focus himself. Over a few seats is a young girl tapping her pen on her desk, clicking the tip over and over in her own frustration. Richie gets about three problems into the test before the clanging ring of the bell brings the end of class. Students clamor to get up and push in their chairs to bring their papers to the teacher at the front of the room. Richie scoffs in irritation over not being able to complete it. He thinks he's just plain dumb. He'll never be any good at school, and this is far from the first time he thinks about this, especially in relation to his freshman year algebra class.

It's his second to last hour of school so at least he only has another sixty minutes of torture before he's home free to play on his Xbox.

Today is a little different, though, school has a presentation assembly, so he gets to sit in the gym with his friends and make fun of whatever sad guy they got to talk to the crowd of rowdy teens. Assemblies are the weirdest thing about high school, or overall, in the humble opinion of Richie himself. They're hardly ever told what they're to hear about or how long it'll be. They're just corralled into the big, echoing gym and they stomp up the wooden bleachers to look down at whatever set up the speaker has prepared to try and push their own life-learned lessons onto the class of uncaring high schoolers.

Richie finds his friends, sitting down next to bill who is next to Eddie. Stan is a row up from Eddie, and Mike is on Eddie's other side.

They look forward to see the man standing before all of them, looking less than self assured, like most of their speakers. The poster behind him says something along the lines of "every student matters" like the kind of presentation they get after someone anywhere in Maine commits suicide, it's like a tradition as well as a common occurrence especially around Derry itself. It's a sad small town where nobody really cares about anyone else, and nobody feels like they've got purpose. It's the kind of presentation that the teens just grin and bear as they hear the same damn thing over and over again when it really won't make a difference. "I'm Don Haggarty and I'm here to talk to all of you about why you in particular need to keep on going," he already sounds like he's going to get emotional, and Eddie already looks like he's going to be equally emotional.

"That guy is the one whose husband got killed last month," he whispers, and he's surely not the only one making nearly that exact remark to his friends, but he's the only one with that shaking quality to his voice. Richie has his suspicions on why it makes Eddie so uncomfortable, but he wouldn't dare say it aloud. Not to mention that he's probably just as fearful himself but he doesn't even know why. The dead guy's name was Adrian, he'd been brutally attacked. The parents and other adults seem to have forgotten within the month, but the kids are still sore on it. Some kids don't care that the guy was gay, but some think he deserved it for that reason.

Bill nods to Eddie glumly, squeezing Eddie's upper arm in hopes of comforting him. The man starts up talking again about how he's been bullied for just about as far back as he can remember. How it's sometimes left him wishing he weren't alive at all. He tells them about how they need to be nicer to each other, that bullying never ends well, even if it doesn't always end up with someone dead, it always ends up with someone dead or hurting inside. He's here to make sure that Adrian's memory does not go forgotten and uncared about. Don seems to be at the beginning of realizing how much o a disease the town of Derry is, an infection of the ringworm type hanging over them and making them a sorry excuse of a community.

All that outpour of feelings doesn't stop the punch to his nose that a junior had given a man on their way out.

Derry is a God awful town and Richie almost hopes that don just gives it up and hightails the hell out of here.

The bus ride home is nearly always bliss so long as he's not being tormented by one of the gaggles of bullies in Derry public schools. He sits in the way back so that he can bounce up and down with the potholes that so desperately should be filled. The students love them though, their rollercoaster ride home from school. The bus driver isn't so happy but what's he supposed to do? Yell at the mayor? Their rucous isn't enough of a problem to pull over and yell at the teens. They don't really listen regardless.

Richie's cackle carries through the entire bus for the majority of the ride most days, often a result of a joke he'd make to himself or his friends. Needless to say, his peers are grateful that he's one of the first stops off.

Getting home offers an immediate change from the day. Home can be chaotic, but nowhere near like the bus. When he gets home his mom is always at the table reading up on some new parenting blog. Her son may be thirteen by now but she still doesn't feel like a good enough parent. She greets him with iced tea and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, maybe even strawberries and apple slices on the side. Richie Always finishes the snack, his hyperactive body needs the nutrients to keep moving at the speed he does.

She helps him with his homework even now as a high schooler. He often knows what he's doing, he picks up on it pretty quick, but Maggie Tozier just wants to guide his focus back to his homework when he goes off track. She knows he's extremely smart but she knows how exasperating he can be. He's a nice young man and frustrating at the same time. She thinks that maybe she's not strict enough and he just doesn't apply himself enough to succeed like he has the potential to.

Wentworth always tells her to be easier on herself and him. He's not worried about Richie's future, he knows that the kid is hard working and he tries to spread joy and love everywhere he goes, and that's all he could have ever asked of his son. Richie finds a way to finish his homework every afternoon and when Wentworth gets home and he and Richie play outside if it's nice enough out. Richie's never been good at throwing or catching a football, but it's great father and son bonding time.

But today Wentworth comes home to tell Richie that he has a doctor's appointment and a haircut afterwards. He says that it's time that he and Richie do manly things together. Manly self care. Wentworth and Richie get into the car as he starts to talk about the importance of grown men taking care of themselves. He probably got all of this off of some article read during one of his lunch breaks as he always does.

"Us men need to care for ourselves before others. Even though it's nice to be self sacrificial, you can't give if you have nothing yourself. It's not healthy, the latter is how you create toxic relationships, kid," Went says, he's always been the monologuing type of father when he's trying to teach something. It's honestly what Richie needs sometimes, someone to explain exactly what he needs to do.

From the moment they pull into the parking lot of the clinic that this isn't a usual doctor's visit. The sign outside the building has a logo of a brain and very clearly says "clinical psychology" on it. This fills Richie with a sense of understandable dread. Does his dad think he's that crazy? He and Wentworth enter this atmosphere of calm that is the office where Went scheduled the appointment for his son.

Richie gets taken to a room with a man with round, metal-rimmed glasses who asks him some questions about his mood and his sleep schedule and if he feels safe at home and at school. He fidgets and squirms in his seat through the entire interview. He doesn't know what this is all about until they bring his dad in and suggest a diagnosis of moderate attention deficit hyperactive disorder. ADHD, it's a long and complicated way of saying that he can't focus on one thing for very long due to low stimulation rates in his brain.

And finally Richie doesn't feel like he's just some bad kid who can't do anything right.


End file.
